


It's Not Your Fault

by GreenRogue



Series: In All their Angsty Hurt [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Guilt, Hallucination Lucifer (Supernatural) | Hallucifer, Post-Episode: s14e13 Lebanon, Sam Winchester is Not Okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 06:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21113855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenRogue/pseuds/GreenRogue
Summary: There was so much hope, a possibility of a magical fix-it-all with that stupid pearl. Then the heartbreaking happiness of seeing their father, seeing Dad, it was almost too much and Sam wanted it to last. Wanted so much for just this once, for something he suggested to go right.





	It's Not Your Fault

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own SPN or the characters, I just like to play with them.

* * *

The hallway was dark where Sam stood leaning against the far wall, as he stared into the bright kitchen. He knew Dean and his mother couldn’t see him. They were staring at the cards in their hands, a quick game, just something to take the hard edge off of the night. His own hand lay forgotten in the third seat, abandoned after the request for more beer. He’d stood quickly to fetch it, the tension that had been growing in his stomach since earlier that evening had grown to uncomfortable levels. He just needed a moment alone, just a second to—

Well it didn’t matter what he needed, now that he watched Dean and Mom talk and laugh. Sam studied their faces, lines of worry and age marred their skin but their eyes twinkled as they recalled age faded memories. Sam was slumped against the wall, his heart twisting as he watched, feeling like a ghost in his own home and by habit he ran his thumb over the faded white scar on his palm.

“Did I ever tell you about the time you and your Dad tried to make me a mother’s day cake?” Dean shook his head and unconsciously leaned forward a little, the naked curiosity clear on his face. “It was right after Sam was born, somehow your father got it in his mind that I needed a cake. Never mind that we had just gotten back from the hospital and I was sleeping more than eating. You two tried to copy some recipe he found in a magazine but confused the baking soda with baking powder.” Dean’s eyes widened comically and he huffed a laugh. Mary had gotten lost in the memory and started to chortle, trying to get the words out. Her hand rested lightly on Dean’s as she bent over the table in a fit of giggles.

“Ther—there was cake batter all over the oven, it just exploded!” Dean and Mary were just laughing, their voices hoarse, faces red, and Sam, hollow and dead inside, couldn’t be happier for them.

Leaving the case of beer just outside the door he shuffled his way towards his own room. His eyes stayed downcast, head heavy from the events of the day. First there was so much hope, a possibility of a magical fix-it-all with that stupid pearl. Then the heartbreaking happiness of seeing their father, seeing **Dad**, it was almost too much and Sam wanted it to last. Wanted so much for just this once, for something he suggested to go right. But his own stupid logic and the world had to prove him wrong. Had to take away a beam of happiness that broke through in the Winchester’s life, and just like that he was back in the darkness. Back in the cold hollow mindset of _alone._

Sam inched himself into his room, barely opening the door to avoid the squeak that had developed. He didn’t want to intrude on his brother, he didn’t want to provide the subtle reminder that he existed. Because as long as he existed, Dean would never truly be free of the weight he’d taken on. As long as Sam was around—well—as long as Sam was alive then Death would follow.

Sitting gingerly on his bed, Sam rested his head in his hands as he leaned forward. His eyes burned and he squeezed them tight behind the palms of his hands. He could clearly remember the way their Dad had looked at them, said how proud he was of them. For a brief moment Sam had felt content, a warmth had spread in his chest and a weight had lifted from his shoulders.

But then the subtle reminder, the order, the single toned word “Sam”. He was looking at the pearl, the simple item that had brought so much light to their damaged family. Sam’s fingers had trembled when he picked up the heavy bowl, the inside of his cheek raw from chewing on it, an anxious habit he’d never grown out of. He’d stared at that pearl, all the anger and sadness of this cruel trick weighed in his eyes. Sam had glanced back at Dean, at Mom, both staring at Dad. Trying to map his face one more time, to memorize the man they knew. Sam stared at the stranger, a kinder, gentler John. One he’d never got the chance to know. One that he’d wished he knew. The second it took to smash the pearl Sam felt like he’d smashed the remaining hope in his brother and mom. The aching emptiness that was left behind pushed against Sam’s engrained guilt reflex and he had apologized silently before trying to escape to his room.

Mary had to wrangle him back, a sense of purpose in her eyes. Dean avoiding him until a few beers later he was able to give Sam a half smile while asking for more beer. Sam was only too happy to oblige, being to provide at least one thing for his brother. Something he wouldn’t have to take away.

Sam couldn’t breathe. His chest constricted like a vice and he slid to the floor. His hands fisted above his heart, teeth clenched against the pain as he slowly rocked himself. His knees were brought up close to his chest and his body screamed at the uncomfortable position but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He thumped his forehead against his knees, his breath coming in short bursts through his nose. His mind ran in circles, flashes of memories rotating in harsh Technicolor.

“Hey bunk buddy—you did it again huh? Took another one from your brother.” Sam wasn’t surprised—he itched to press at his scar but held back as he looked up at Lucifer’s frame. The angel was leaning against his door, staring down at him with red glowing eyes and a smirk on his face. “You just can’t help yourself can you, always killing your family”. Sam dropped his eyes and stared at Lucifer’s feet, the strength to fight him long gone. He wasn’t wrong.

Perhaps it was fitting it was Sam to smash the pearl. After all, he was the reason Mom had died in the first place—he was the reason Jo and Ellen were dragged into their Apocalypse war, a war he started when he opened the cage. Then Pamela, Bobby—Charlie—each were casualties of his choices, his existence. Then came John, their Dad. Sam had taken both Dean’s mother, and father. Because Dean had a father, once. Had a man who played catch with him, read him bedtime stories, snuggled with him when he was sick. Sam had taken that away with his birth, had effectively taken both his parents in one night just for being born.

And now—now when Dean had a second chance to have them both back, the Mom and Dad he was meant to have—Sam had to go a take that away too.

“Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds. Is that you Sammy? Are you the harbinger of Death?” Lucifer giggled against Sam’s ear as his hand ran through the younger man’s hair. He shook his head violently and lurched away from the hallucination. Stumbling to his feet, he planted his hands against the wall, leaning his forehead on the cool tile trying to calm his growing agitation. His chest hurt and eyes stung, ragged gasps of breath forced their way in and out of his mouth as the crashing weight of guilt dragged his soul down into the darkness. Ice cold hands snaked around his waist, he could feel the Archangel’s presence behind him and whispers of chains rattled in his memory.

“You’ve destroyed **everything** Sammy, again and again. You feel like you don’t belong because you don’t. You’ve been mine since the beginning, you’ve belonged to me and me alone bunk buddy. When we are complete again, our reigning destruction will be **_glorious_**.”

“That’ll never happen—“ Sam harshly whispers past clenched teeth. He scraps his nails against the wall as he forces his hands into fists, his blunt nails pressing sharply against the anchor in his palm. “I’ll—I’ll never let that happen.” He hears the chuckle as it fades along with the icy breath on his skin.

“_Never let it happen—again”_. His mind crumbles, his knees are weak and he falls. He can’t control the tears, the sobs. Can’t hold onto the silence around him as his body shakes. He thinks he hears Dean’s voice calling for him, thinks he can feel the vibration of feet running to his room. But the loneliness is crushing around him, his sight dims, senses shutting down. He wonders if this is what John felt when he died in that hospital, alone. Wonders if this is what Mary felt as she watched Azazel stand over her child’s crib with the last vision of her life.

He can’t feel the hands on his shoulders now. Can’t hear the pleading “Sammy” in his ear as he’s crushed against his brother’s chest. The arms holding him trying to convey comfort merely feel like a vice and he struggles weakly. Dean doesn’t let go though, doesn’t let Sam pull away. He just squeezes slightly while whispering nonsense in his ear, comforting words to bring his little brother back.

“It’s ok Sammy, it’s alright, not your fault—it’s not your fault”.


End file.
